


Reflections in Life

by LittleSpeckintheUniverse



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bard Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Blink and you miss them, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Baggage, FFxivWrite2020, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Marriage Proposal, Minor Violence, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Non-Graphic Violence, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Patch 4.5: A Requiem For Heroes Spoilers, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Pining, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020, minor patch 5.3 spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26260960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpeckintheUniverse/pseuds/LittleSpeckintheUniverse
Summary: A collection of works for the 2020 FFXIV 30 Day Writing Challenge.All works will be following my WoL, Arlen, and will be updated daily.New tags will be added as the works are published.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 7





	1. Day 1: Crux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crux:  
> (n) a vital, basic, decisive, or pivotal point  
> -  
> So far luck seemed to be the only thing that kept Arlen alive. Now it was up to the fates to see if trust would continue that streak.

The swing of Zenos’ sword paired with the unsettling darkness that followed led Arlen to believe he had truly died. Even the Warrior of Light wasn’t immune to death, which he’d known from the start. As he had told his friends in the past, he had a tendency to get lucky. People would happen to be in the right place at the right time to save his tail. The members of his free company, the ones he could count among his closest friends, had kept him from death’s door more times than he could count. Somehow, despite that fact, those helping hands were all but erased from the stories told of his heroics. Instead, if those stories were to be believed, Arlen single-handedly took down every foe in his path, nary receiving a scratch from the fray. If only the stories were to include his friends, perhaps he wouldn’t find himself facing off against foes such as Zenos alone. Perhaps the fact that they were such an integral part of his story was the reason that they were gone now. With his friends out of the way, Arlen was just as mortal as any other man.

…

For being dead, he sure had a long time to think.

…

Upon opening his eyes, Arlen found that the afterlife wasn’t quite what he’d expected, if this was the afterlife at all. Darkness surrounded him, save for what appeared to be, if he’d learned anything about magic from Lazav, some sort of magical circle. So was this-

“At last, I’ve found you.” 

That was the voice, the voice that had been haunting Arlen and his friends since the fateful day that Thancred had been spirited away. Arlen’s heart skipped a beat as his ears pinned back, feeling the beginnings of anger rising in his blood. This man had taken everything from him. Had the Scions not been taken from the fight, from him, this war would have easily been won. Zenos couldn’t have held out against all of them together. Arlen had to keep himself from baring his teeth as he turned to glare at the figure behind him.

“Please, there is no cause for alarm!” The figure seemed to beg with his words, tone almost sad, perchance by the fact that Arlen had taken up the defensive stance. What was the man’s end-goal? At first, his intentions had seemed nefarious, especially when Thancred had been affected by this calling. But now, with the way he spoke, Arlen wasn’t sure. There was something about the voice that left a nagging feeling at the back of his mind. The miqo’te filed that feeling away as one to be examined when he was next alone. For now, his focus must remain entirely on this man and his actions, no matter how unimposing a figure he cut.

If Arlen were to meet this man on the street, he wouldn’t think twice about him. He was clearly a mage of some sort, with that staff. Arlen was not versed well enough in the magics to even begin to consider just what kind of mage he was. Needless to say, the man did not appear to be a danger simply by his appearance. It was only what he had done that put Arlen on edge. This man had stolen his friends and left them lifeless husks. That was unacceptable.

Arlen watched as the figure shook his head apologetically, continuing to speak, “Though, I confess, this is not where I had intended to meet. But the place of our meeting is of no consequence – like the war you wage. Win or lose, the path you walk leads only to oblivion.” 

What? Arlen blinked at the stranger as confusion sent him reeling. How did this man know of his path, let alone the fact that it would lead to oblivion? Was he of the future? Had he been sent to warn Arlen, or simply to remove him from the timeline to prevent this supposed dark outcome? His tail lashed violently, hair beginning to stand on end as his ears pulled closer to his skull. What all did this stranger know?

“The better path leads you here. To me. I have need of your strength.” The figure seemed resolved now, having finally reached the point of the conversation. The words, however serious, left a stone in the pit of his stomach. If he was to trust this man point blank, then the deeds he had been performing to save the people of this star had been dooming them. Had it been all for naught? If he had not interfered, had not met the Scions, then perhaps that future wouldn’t come. That small voice, the same one that was nagging him about the man and how familiar he seemed to be, told him that he shouldn’t focus on the what ifs. The voice sounded oddly like Arissa, his oldest friend. She would tell him that question remained as to if the man was telling the truth. It was to be seen as to if he could trust this man. He had to hold back a wry smile because she would be right.

“Pray tell, who are you?” he asked after a long consideration, tail stilling as he regarded the stranger. Could it be that not-Arissa's voice was right, and he did know this man? The man’s voice pricked at the edge of a memory, something long forgotten that wished to return. If only he could remember.

“I am afraid such questions will have to wait,” the man replied hurriedly, lips drawing to a frown, “We have precious little time, and your work is not yet done.”

Ah, so he still had to finish out what he was doing before he was whisked away to whatever corner of reality this man wanted to take him to. At least he was giving Arlen a chance to finish his current assignments before stealing him as he had Arlen’s companions.

“Go to the Crystal Tower. I have left something for you near its base. It will serve as a beacon of sorts. One which I pray will help you on your journey. All you need do is find it. I will take care of the rest,” the man informed him, watching Arlen from under his hood. After a brief pause, a hand was extended in offering, “Soon we will throw wide the gates, and the path to the First will be yours to walk at last.”  
A sense of falling overtook Arlen as he threw himself forward, reaching out for the man who seemed achingly familiar. The miqo’te knew this man, he was certain. If he could only reach him, he would know who was under that hood. If only he could touch him, he would recognize him.

Before their hands could touch, a light overtook his vision, parting him from the robed figure, existence and all.

-

Arlen awoke with the feeling that he had been dropped violently back into his body. Sweat drenched the thin sleep-clothes he had been changed into, a fact that the miqo’te only became aware of after he lurched upwards, reeling from the vision he’d had of the hooded stranger. Through the pounding of his heart in his ears and the stark sound of his breaths, he only just heard the door open and hurried footsteps leaving the room.

Breathe, he told himself as his eyes skittered from one object to another, fruitlessly trying to place the room. He needed to breathe. Nothing good would come from hyperventilating. He brought a hand to his chest as he counted the seconds, a trick that Arissa had taught him long ago. Only when he regulated his breaths did he open his eyes to truly take in his surroundings.

The architecture was strictly Ishgardian. That alone was enough to tell him that it was one of two people that had brought him here: Aymeric or Estinien. They were the only two that, when thinking of transporting in an emergency, would consider Ishgard their home. Anyone else that would have considered it such had been stolen by the stranger, their bodies now in the beds sharing a room with the Scions’. Arlen released a long breath as his hand smoothed down his shirt, landing limp on the bedspread.

After a moment, he heard footsteps, the ones from before paired with a heavier set. As the tall figure of Aymeric appeared in the doorway, he had his answer as to who had brought him. Arlen watched with grim amusement as a look of shock flitted across the Elezen’s face before a relieved smile replaced it. Arlen returned the smile with a tired one of his own.

“You’re awake. Thank heavens!”

And so he was, his luck somehow holding out again. That meant it was time to finish what he’d started. Then, and only then, he would finally learn what the hooded figure had in store for him and how they might prevent oblivion from descending upon the star he had been so desperately attempting to save.

-

The crux of the matter was that the only hope the remnants of the Scions had was to trust the hooded man. With Tataru’s revelation that mayhap their missing friends were wherever the man was, Arlen’s resolve was set. Perhaps this was his luck once again working to save him. Or perhaps his luck had finally been used up and he was going to his death. Perhaps he was wrong to trust the man. Perhaps this would all go wrong and the dark future this path had started would come to pass despite their trust in the man.

Despite all the potential ways this could go wrong, Arlen knew he had to try. Trusting the familiar stranger was the only way forward. It was the only way to return his friends to where they belonged. It was his only chance at hope. He had to trust that man for the sake of Alisaie, Alphinaud, Y’stola, Thancred, Urianger, Arissa, Lazav, Clara, and Jhim.

With that hope for his friends in mind, Arlen threw wide the doors as he took up the beacon, ready to once again be the weapon he’d been forged into all those years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a day late to submitting this first prompt response because I didn't find out about the challenge until today. Look for the the response to today's prompt either late tonight or early tomorrow morning.
> 
> Arissa, Lazav, Clara, and Jhim belong to my friends and family that play FFXIV. They have graciously allowed me to use the characters as Arlen's friends/free company companions. I look forward to introducing you to them! Because they exist in my cannon, there will be a bit of lore-bending. They too were accidently taken by the Exarch when he tried to get to Arlen, because they are arguably closer to Arlen than most of the Scions.


	2. Day Two: Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sway:   
> (v) to move or incline to one side or in a particular direction.  
> (n) the act of swaying; swaying movement  
> -  
> Arlen learned of music when he was six years old. That day forever altered the course of his life.

Aryl’a was six years old when he first encountered music. His eldest sister had snuck him out to watch fireworks at a festival in New Gradania, a tradition she told him then that she had with each of their siblings. Thyla whispered to him the entire way from their tribe that he mustn’t say a word to Mother, lest they evoke her wrath when they returned. Mother didn’t like it when they left their territory, but under the guise of teaching her youngest brother how to hunt, Thyla managed to dupe her mother for another year. 

With bright war paint contrasting violently against the uncharacteristic red of his hair, Aryl’a clutched at his sister’s hand when they left the woods. He’d never left the tall trees before, having been kept close to his mother’s side as the only male the tribe had produced. He knew that being male was frowned upon, having only seen adult male miqo’te during a few short stretches of moons each year. His mother made an active show of running them off when the stretches of moons were over. Despite that, Mother always kept him close. It was rare that he was allowed to leave her side.

Without the trees over his head, the world seemed too open. Aryl’a couldn’t help but to worry that something might fall from the sky. When he voiced this worry to his sister she merely laughed and told him that she would ensure that nothing hit him. With that worry cleared up, the younger Keeper found it safe to take in his surroundings.

What struck him first was the vast number of people that were walking around the town as they entered it. Never before had Aryl’a seen so many beings in one place. After a few moments he noticed just how different they were to him. Some of them had odd round pieces of flesh on the sides of their heads and a noticeable lack of ears and tails. Others were huge, with pointed pieces of flesh on the sides of their heads. A few miqo’te, both Keeper and Seeker, were milling about as well, seeming to not notice the strangeness of these new people. 

When his sister caught him staring openly at the tallest person he had ever seen she drew him to the side to explain the difference between his race, miqo’te, and the two new ones he’d seen, hyur and elezen. He’d heard mother speaking about hyur in their territory before, but having never seen one, he’d assumed it was a form of beast. He told Thyla as much. He didn’t appreciate it when she laughed.

Having cleared up another mystery for the young miquo’te, Thyla and Aryl’a continued down the paths towards the destination his sister had in mind to watch the fireworks. The next thing that caught his attention stopped him in his tracks. He heard something he’d never heard before, his ears twitching toward the direction the sound had come from. It almost sounded like many bowstrings, a weapon his mother was currently teaching him to use, being pulled and released at rehearsed intervals. It was captivating.

When his sister finally noticed he’d stopped, Aryl’a had already began moving toward the sound. He could hear her familiar footsteps behind him, following him toward the sound. Having not received a reprimand for wandering away, he assumed he had permission to continue seeking the sound. Perhaps his sister was just as curious about the sound as he was.

The two miqo’te came to a stop at the edge of a small clearing. Standing in the center was an Elezen man, holding an object with many strings running from one end to the other, looking much like what Aryl’a assumed his bow would look like with many strings. The object produced the most beautiful sound the young miqo’te had heard, which he expressed to his sister as he began gently swaying in time to the plucked strings. Once again, she laughed at him and his wonder at the world, though she stopped for long enough to explain music.

Aryl’a only half listened to her explanation, intent on watching the man with his tool, what Thyla had called a harp. It was then and there that he decided that one day, once he was forced to leave the camp like his father, he would learn to play the harp like this man. Then he too could bring beauty to the world. When he told Thyla she looked sad, but she didn’t try to dissuade him. Rather, she told him that she was certain he’d make music just like the man one day. It was only with great urging that Thyla made her younger brother move on from the music to watch the fireworks. 

With how loud the fireworks were, Aryl’a wished that they had stayed to listen to the man and his harp.

-

Aryl’a was fifteen years old when he first encountered dance. It was nary full year since Mother had forced him to leave and follow the ways of the male keepers. He was to come back to a different keeper clan when he was eighteen to complete his duty to his people. Until then he was to wander and live a life of seclusion. Aryl’a wasn’t fond of that idea, so instead he sought out the sounds that had captivated his attentions eight years prior.

He found himself traveling all over the realm, from Gradania to Limsa to Ul’dah. In each new place he learned of a new type of music, a new type of people, and a new way of life. Aryl’a felt as though he’d learned more in one short year than he had his entire life. The world was so much larger than Mother had made it seem.

The music in Ul’dah was by far his favorite. It made his feet want to move and his fingers want to play. Unfortunately, all he could do was sit and sway as he listened to the musicians perform on his first day in the Steps of Thal. He was content to watch and listen, but he had more to learn from this particular set of performers it seemed. After their first song, the miquo’te watched as several women strode out to stand in front of the musicians. Each was dressed in a striking red, similar enough to his hair that it made him smile. The music started up again. Much to Aryl’a’s surprise, the women started moving with the music. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

After the performance concluded, Aryl’a found himself timidly approaching the dancers and musicians as they talked. The group greeted him with warmth. When he asked if they would teach him to dance and play as they did, surprise colored their initial response. They asked if his parents would permit it. He told them he had none. 

There wasn’t much discussion after that; he found himself adopted by the small unit of performers.

-

Aryl’a was twenty when he learned that dance could be dangerous. People could use him in ways that he disliked. A specific person could manipulate him to the point that he didn’t even recognize himself. Dance could make him miserable. Dance could bring him love and adoration. He wasn’t sure which outweighed the other. 

He stayed with the specific person. He was fed. He was clothed. He was miserable. But, for the first time in years, he believed he was loved.

-

Aryl’a was twenty-four when dance saved his life. It was a performance night. The miqo’te could feel the aches and pains in his joints as he smiled at the small crowd gathered in the performance hall. To them he was just a pretty entertainment that they would enjoy for an hour and then forget not two moons later. To the man leaning against the wall watching, Aryl’a was a gold mine. If Aryl’a was good and did what he was told, he could stay alive. He was still fed. He was still clothed. He was still miserable. But, he couldn’t leave. This was better than dying, right?

That night Aryl’a picked out a rare face in the crowd. An Au Ru woman was present, watching him dance with clear wonder. A cynical voice at the back of his mind reminded him of the first time he saw women dancing. His face had held the same type of wonder. If only he could still regard dance like that. When he first started dancing, it was all he’d ever wanted from life. Now he wished he could leave it behind. He’d give anything to live the wanderer’s life Mother had intended him to live.

After the performance concluded, Aryl’a intended to do what was expected of him. He intended to return to his dressing room to await his instructions for the night. However, the Au Ru woman stopped him. His curiosity over her presence at the event was enough to make him pause. He found himself conversing with her, telling her about the different types of dance that he’d learned. She wanted to know about the significance of the dances, how they’d developed, how they fit in the culture. Her questions reminded him why he’d once loved dance.

A bell had slipped by before he’d realized. The moment he’d realized his mistake, it was already too late. He was coming, heels clicking down the hall at a furious pace. Aryl’a froze in place, ears pinning back as his tail went rigid. He’d nary turned fully around before he was roughly seized by his braid with a shout at his tardiness. The miqo’te yelped at the sudden pain of being thrown to the floor. He’d truly messed up this time. He’d forgotten that time was money; his life wasn’t his own.

The blows that he was expecting to follow never came. Instead, he heard a body hit the floor next to him, followed by gentle hands that coaxed him up from the ground. Arissa led him away from the building, away from the Steps of Thall, and away from Ul’dah.

That was the last day he was called Aryl’a.

-

Arlen was thirty when he learned that music could be used to support his comrades in battle. He and select members of his free company had been with the Scions for almost a half year at that point. Arissa had stuck around after rescuing him. Together they had met and befriended Lazav, a White Mage trainee. The three of them together had struck out to help Gridania. Together, the three of them had become Scions.

Music, despite his ragged past with it, was still his passion. To know that he could combine it with his job was encouraging. He eagerly took up his harp and jumped at the opportunity to learn the songs that could help his friends.

He simply wished he could do more. Arissa could take the blows of their enemies while Lazav could heal their injuries. Perhaps now he could help them in the way they had been helping him these past years.

-

Arlen was thirty-one when he learned that dancing with another was more pleasurable than dancing alone. Hidden away in private chambers, away from the prying eyes of his soldiers, Haurchefant took the miqo’te’s hands and led him in paired dances around the rooms. He taught Arlen all the dances he could, laughing good-naturedly when a misstep occurred. Arlen found himself laughing with him as he memorized the complicated, fast steps.

Watching Haurchefant move with eyes bright, cheeks flushed, while smiling like Arlen was the most precious thing to him taught him an important lesson: Half of doing something he enjoys should be about the experience. He’d been dancing for sixteen years as of that night. None of his performances had been half as enjoyable as this private moment. He was alive and in love. He felt loved. He knew he was loved.

As the night wore on, the two men grew tired. Instead of settling down for the night, they instead held each other close, content to sway to the soft hums of half-formed music provided by the Elezen. Arlen purred, knowing that this was what he wanted for the rest of his life: Stolen moments with the man he loved, dancing, and living.

-

Arlen was thirty-two when he stopped dancing. A cold band of silver rested on a chain tucked under his shirt next to his heart as he watched the frozen ground cover the coffin of the man that had taught him what it’d meant to really live again. Without him, the world seemed like that band: cold, grey, and lifeless.

-

From then on, it was all he could do to sway to his music. Sway, with the hopes that someday someone would remind him what it meant to dance with the love of life.

-

Arlen was thirty-six when he found a soft song being sung in his ear as he swayed in time with a new love. The man that had been taken away from him and been hidden in crystal finally returned the piece of his heart that had been taken. Neither could dance, but together they could move gently back and forth. They could be together. 

That was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some very brief glimpses of Arlen's past here. I'd like to flesh out each story and actually include dialogue and have each be a full scene. If I were to do that though, we'd be here for 10,000 words, which I unfortunately do not have the time for today. Maybe someday!


	3. Day Three: Muster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Muster:  
> (v) to gather, summon, rouse  
> -  
> Sometimes, Arlen needed help remembering that his instincts were usually correct.

Shadows flickered in the dim, candle-lit room as harsh winds battered at the shuttered windows. On a day like that day, no one should be out. The storms had come suddenly, catching even the sky-watchers by surprise. Anyone caught outside was likely to find themselves wandering permanently in the white landscape. The weather was enough to give Arlen pause as he sat in front of the dying embers of his room’s fire, wondering if this was truly the correct path to take.

When he’d made the decision, it had been clear as day. It had been what he wanted. It was what he still wanted. When he’d asked Arissa for her advice, she’d smiled fondly and told him that if he wanted to take this step, he should. In the seven years she had known him, she’d never seen him this at peace with himself. If this path would continue that, she believed it to be the right course. Ultimately, however, it was up to Arlen, she had told him, giving him that bemused look. She knew he’d follow the road that he saw fit no matter her opinion.

Perhaps she was right, Arlen mused as he stood from his chair, missing the blanket he’d had wrapped around his shoulders as soon as he’d let it fall away. Had Arissa told him that this decision wasn’t the right one for him, he likely would have disregarded her words. What he’d wanted and craved for so long was here, right in front of him. All he had to do was reach out and take it. So why now of all the days was he hesitating?

With a brisk shake of his head, Arlen crossed the inn room, intent on finding the boots he’d lost on the previous night’s trek from the door to his bed. He had to stop thinking about it and just do it. It was the overthinking that always caused him strife. Clara never hesitated to point out when he was getting in his own head. She often called him his own worst enemy. His instincts were always on point. All Arlen needed to do was follow them. Even last night, while the company was gathered around their table in the Forgotten Knight, she told him that he shouldn’t second guess himself over this. It was the right thing to do. So why?

Having found the boots, Arlen trudged over to the bedside, sitting gently as to not ruffle the clothing he had so carefully put together for this occasion. As he laced the boots up, Arlen couldn’t help the quirk that found the corner of his lips as he remembered Lazav’s parting advice the prior night. Lazav had simply stopped him, studied him, and when prompted by Arlen, told him to do it. From the stoic Au Ru, the words were more encouragement than he could have ever hoped for. His own answering smile and nod were all that he’d been able to muster in return. That had been when the nerves set in. With Lazav’s recognition of the event, it was truly happening.

A sharp rap of knuckles on the door broke Arlen out of his thoughts. Ah, it was time then. The miqo’te gave a final glance over his room before he retrieved his hat and went to the door. The fluttering butterflies in his stomach redoubled their efforts as his hand closed on the handle, bidding it to allow his friend access. 

Jhim smiled down at him from where he stood in the hall, looking windswept and soaked through from the snow. “I won’t keep you long,” he began, pulling his pack from his shoulders before beginning to rifle through it, “But I know you won’t get too far without these.” After a moment, the Elezen produced a small, intricate wooden box. At the sight of it, Arlen’s heart seemed to be beating in his throat. It was all he could do to make a small sound of thanks as he took the outheld box. 

This box held his future. Though it weighed next to nothing, its existence in his palm seemed monumental. In a few short hours, he would have his answer, that was, if he could truly go through with it. He couldn’t back down now, could he? He was the Primal Slayer and saver of Eorzia, for heaven’s sakes! If he could kill a god, then he could do this. But, gods, he would rather be slaying a primal than doing this. That was a part of his job description. This? Not so much.

Jhim clapped Arlen on the shoulder as the miqo’te left his room, gently pulling the door shut behind him. “Don’t go getting cold feet now,” the Elezen teased him gently, “It’ll be easier than you think. He won’t say no.”

“But what if he does?” The words slipped out unbidden as Arlen clutched that small box to his chest. There it was, the root of his anxieties. Even though they had discussed it over many nights, he still held onto that fear that, when it came down to it, maybe Arlen wouldn’t be enough. Maybe there was someone out there that was better for him than Arlen. Maybe, upon asking, he would suddenly realize that he didn’t want Arlen for the rest of his life. Maybe-

“Then you come back to us and we’ll help you find your way from there,” Jhim replied, voice soft. Arlen could barely bring himself to look at the man. This was his weakness that he tried so hard to hide from others. He had to be strong for them. He couldn’t bend or break in front of them. Even then, however, his company members, his closest friends, they all knew he wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t until that moment that he understood why they’d all ensured that he wasn’t alone in these past few moons. They knew him. They knew he would second-guess his entire relationship. They knew he would doubt himself and his own intentions. They knew he would doubt the man that he loved with his whole being. They knew him, so when he’d lost his own nerve, they’d given him theirs.

“Jhim, I-“ He began, jaw slackening as he looked up with wide eyes. The ball of dread that had been gnawing at his lungs seemed to defuse as the Elezen nodded. Of course he would understand what Arlen meant to say. He always did. All of them did. Gods, he’d been blessed on that day that he’d met Arissa. “Thank you.”

Jhim’s laugh filled the hall. “Don’t thank me just yet. Thank me after you have the story of how it goes.”

Arlen nodded, feeling light for the first time in weeks as he put on his hat. “I’ll find you in the morning. Have everyone together, would you?” He asked, already striding down the hall, not waiting for an answer. Jhim would. He could always count on Jhim and the others. But for now, he needed to go while his confidence was high. He needed to get to Haurchefant’s side before the resolve he’d mustered could waiver again.

-

By the time he’d reached Dragonhead, Arlen felt as though he’d been both drowned and tossed around by a playful wind sprite. The guards outside the keep let him in the blessedly warm room without a fuss, having come to recognize him with his frequent visits. Once the door closed behind him, he felt as though he could breathe again. The heavy door cut the sound of the wind, leaving behind only the sounds of the popping fire and the scratching quill, which had paused upon his entrance.

A quick glance up at the only other person present in the room was enough to steal his breath away again, however. There Haurchefant sat, smiling at him like he was the most precious soul in the world. When they locked eyes, Arlen could have sworn his heart stopped as his lips quirked to return the affectionate expression. This man was perfection.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, my Love?” Haurchefant asked with a hint of amusement as he rose from his place behind the desk, moving to intercept Arlen as the miqo’te crossed the room. Arlen’s throat felt dry as they drew close. He’d meant this to be a surprise meeting, which it clearly was. Despite that, however, he felt as though the Elezen knew full well why he was here. His tell was in the way that his eyes crinkled that much further in the corners, and in the way that he leaned to press a chaste kiss on the corner of Arlen’s mouth, lingering for a half-moment longer than was necessary.

“I, um, I have something I would ask of you, Haurchefant,” He replied, rising up on his tiptoes to chase those lips as they drew away. Arlen had planned to ask him following dinner, or perhaps while they were sitting by the fire before bed. But now, with the warmth of his love’s smile and the simple relief of being with him again, no time would be better. 

“I won’t take a knee, because I know you would just tell me to get up, but I,” he had to pause as he fumbled with the box in his pocket, pulling it out to offer it to the man, “I don’t want to be without you. You have made me happier than I could ever imagine. You brought me life when I’d forgotten how to live. I love you more than life itself, Haurchefant. Would you-“ he had to pause, the words catching on a lump that had formed in his throat, “Would you allow me the honor of spending the rest of my life, however long that may be, by your side?”

He hadn’t realized that he’d looked down until he felt warm fingers gently urging his chin to lift. When his eyes met Haurchefant’s, he realized that that expression of open affection that he’d seen upon his arrival paled in comparison to this. Bards could write a millennia’s worth of songs about that expression alone. 

“Yes, Arlen, my love. Nothing would make me happier than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was just going to leave this at the cut. However, it felt incomplete there, so I finished this out. I might revisit this someday and give it more thought, but for tonight, it's done.


	4. Day Four: Clinch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clinch:  
> (v) to settle (a matter) decisively  
> -  
> Sometimes Arlen needs prompting from his friends to take time off for himself.

The low din of voices marred the background of what otherwise would have been the perfect place to hide from the world. Dark splotches of ink flecked the mostly empty paper in front of him, glaring up at him accusingly. Arlen had been trying to write this ballad for nearly four fortnights. He found himself nearly as frustrated as those marks. Thus far, he’d managed the first verse, but the time with which he’d had to write had dwindled to next to none. 

Alphinaud and his Crystal Braves, along with Minfilia and the Scions, were seeing that nearly every second of his time was utilized for “the betterment of Eorzea”. It wasn’t a bad thing, not necessarily. Arlen was more than happy to volunteer his time for the organizations. He couldn’t exactly say no when Alphinaud came calling, asking him to do this or that. It would crush the boy if he did. Arlen certainly wouldn’t be the one to break his dreams like that. Besides, having something to do constantly left him with little time to think. The less time he had to think meant he had less time to over-think. That was never a bad thing.

The only bad part about being constantly busy between the Braves and the Scions meant that he hadn’t been able to finish this ballad commemorating the deeds of G’raha. Arlen knew that G’raha would be embarrassed by the sentimentality of the piece, or at least the sentimentality that it would have when he finally finished it. However, the world needed to hear of the sacrifice that his friend made for their own well-being. It wouldn’t do to have the life and deeds of his friend shoved under the rug. 

Arlen heaved a sigh as he let his eyes close, blocking out those few written notes for the harp on his parchment. This was the first time in nearly twelve moons that he’d had to himself, so he’d tucked himself away on one of the shelves in the back corner of the Rising Stones. He’d probably be scolded if he was found here, the shelf space was for food after all, but thus far he’d been left alone. Few people ever came back to this particular spot, so it’d become his hiding place when he’d wanted a moment to himself. 

It wouldn’t be long before Alphinaud came looking for him again, he knew. The teen wanted him to travel to Ul’dah for some reason or another. His departure time was in three bells. Arlen had intended to spend his time writing the next verse, but the span of time since his last encounter with G’raha meant that the emotions were beginning to fade. It didn’t help that his mind felt like it held the consistency of a cabbage. His tail lashed out as his frustrations rose, smacking the wall with a dull thud. All he’d wanted to do was create this for his friend. But now-

“So, this is where you disappeared to.”

Arlen froze, ears turning towards the voice as he warily opened his eyes. He was met with the stark black of dragoon armor, which was unexpected enough to make him jump and the hair on his tail stand on end. He blinked as he squinted up at the figure, trying to make out their face in the dark aisle of shelves.

The young Hyur woman stared impassively down at him, arms crossed. “No matter how many times you say it, you are not a popoto. You do not belong down there, Arlen,” she teased him, a smile betraying her serious tone as she crouched. There was a soft clang as the butt of her lance hit the floor, but she seemed to pay it no mind. Instead, the Miqo’te watched warily as her eyes scanned him. He wondered what she saw; it’d been a while since he’d last seen a mirror. 

Arlen knew that the bleached white of his hair was growing out, leaving a large section of his natural red roots laid bare to the world. He knew he should bleach it again before he left for Ul’dah, lest he be recognized by him. However, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Haurchefant seemed fond of the color, remarking how it fit him and brought out the color of his eyes. Arlen was also beginning to find himself fond of it, so removing its color again seemed like a waste.

The white warpaint on his cheeks had smudged beyond recognition. It was his own fault, admittedly. The miqo’te tended to rest his cheek in his palm while he wrote, making it difficult to keep the stark lines he usually had when facing the battleground that had become his every day. He’d have to fix that before he left. Really, he should fix it before Alphinaud saw him, lest the teen begin to worry. Alphinaud already had enough to worry about without Arlen adding his own state of dress to that.

A hand coming into his line of sight startled him out of his thoughts as he flinched backwards violently. The resounding smack of his head on the wood of the shelf above him left his ears throbbing and his head pounding. Ah, that hadn’t been good. He brought an ink-stained hand up to check for blood as he watched the offending appendage disappear back out of his hiding place as quick as it had appeared.

“When did you last sleep?” A soft voice asked from behind Clara, who was pulling her hand back carefully so Arlen could track the movement. Slowly, the miqo’te lifted his gaze from Clara to the Au Ru behind her. His ears drooped as a stone fell into the pit of his stomach. Arissa was here. In fact, it wasn’t just Arissa present. His entire company stood in the cramped aisle, looking down at him with varied degrees of worry. He could hide his state of well-being from the Scions who didn’t know his tells. He couldn’t hide them from his friends.

“I-“ he began, hand dropping from his head when he found no injury from the hard knock. That was a good question: When did he last get a full night’s rest? Slowly, his eyes narrowed as he counted the days. They wouldn’t like his answer. 

“I slept for a few bells on Gilbird this morning.”

The answering frown from Clara and scowl from Arissa were expected. What he hadn’t expected was the stark disapproving head shake from Lazav, whose normal distant expression had darkened. Even Jhim, who always seemed to have a smile, looked concerned. 

“When do you next leave?” The question came in the rumbling voice of Lazav, who had crossed his arms while he studied the Miqo’te. Arlen pulled his knees to his chest as he pointedly looked away, tail beginning to twitch irritably.

“In a few bells,” he replied after a few moments, “Alphinaud bid me go to Ul’dah-“

“You hate Ul’dah,” Arissa interrupted, voice deadpan as she glared down the aisle of shelves, presumably at wherever the teen stood. Her tone made that stone in the pit of his stomach feel quite a bit heavier. Without much care, he let his forehead drop to his knees as he screwed his eyes shut, wishing he could simply return to his song and not deal with his friends’ worry. It would be easier for all of them that way.

“Alphinaud need not know that,” he stated, voice strained, trying to keep his ears from pinning back on his head. To Alphinaud, he was unflappable. He didn’t want to break the teen’s expectations of him. If he were to be honest with himself, he’d come to see the young Elezen as something akin to family. Letting him down simply wasn’t an option. All he need do was be careful where he went in Ul’dah, lest he risk any unpleasant memories or meet anyone that might remember him from the years that he spent there unwillingly. If he avoided those places and people, he would be fine.

“Alphinaud would hate to know that he has been shepherding you to a place that haunts you,” Clara interjected. Perhaps that was true. However, that was all the more reason to prevent Alphinaud from finding out. The guilt would eat at him. So, he simply wouldn’t find out. Resolute in that, Arlen squeezed his eyes shut all the harder until he was seeing stars behind his lids. 

“Don’t tell him,” he murmured after a long moment, opening one eye to look at his friends, “Please. I’ll go. I will only stay as long as it takes to complete the task. Then I’ll rest.”

“You have the meeting in Gridania after this trip,” Jhim piped up. Arlen could have groaned. He’d forgotten about that. The Twin Adder had requested his presence for a meeting about the beast tribes. There went the downtime he’d been planning to use to finish this twice damned song.

“Alphinaud was just speaking of sending him out with the Braves after he returned from that engagement,” Lazav added, his voice a soft rumble against the backdrop of chatter. The words sounded apologetic.

“That’s it,” Clara stated. Arlen’s head snapped up at the sudden, sharp word. His eyes opened in time to watch the hyur stand and turn sharply to face the other members of their company. She seemed to be coming to some conclusion that he wasn’t sure he would like. 

“Arissa.”

“Yes?”

“Would you be willing to travel to Ul’dah in Arlen’s stead?” Clara asked. The stone in his stomach lurched upward, lodging in his chest at the realization of why his company had come to find him. From where Arlen was positioned, he could only just barely see the uptick of the corner of her mouth. They had been planning this for Twelve only knows how long.

“No! I cannot ask you-“

“Arlen, shush,” Clara interrupted yet again, barely casting him a glance. “This is for your own good. Now, Lazav, would you go with the Braves to complete the task that Alphinaud bid Arlen complete? Seeing as you are a member of the Braves and he is technically not not, it makes more sense that you attend to it.”

A solemn nod was all the response the Au Ru gave. It made the stone twist uncomfortably in Arlen’s chest.

“I will attend the meeting with the Twin Adder. Seeing as I hold the same rank as you, I can provide whatever insight it was that they were searching for from you,” Clara stated, voice softening ever so slightly as she glanced over her shoulder at him. Arlen felt small as he curled in further on himself. The full attention to load he had been baring made him feel exposed and uncomfortable. One of his ears flicked unbidden in an attempt to ward away the feeling. It didn’t help.

“Jhim has already agreed to travel with you to Dragonhead,” Clara told him gently as she turned to fully face him again. “He wishes to try ice fishing while you take a much-needed break.”

“But why there?” Arlen asked meekly, stone beginning to dissolve as he came to the slow understanding that there would be no changing their minds in this. They had clinched this matter long before they brought it to him. 

“You should not try to act coy around us,” Arissa replied. When Arlen brought his gaze to meet hers, he felt a hot blush flood his cheeks. “We know where your affections lay.”

“Aye,” he murmured as he dripped his head, feeling the flush spread down his neck as he attempted to conceal it. There was no use in trying to deny it if they all knew. Was he really that obvious? 

“Go now and relax,” Clara instructed him, holding a hand out to the Miqo’te, “All of your troubles will still be here for you when you return. You can attend to them then. For now, take your rest while you can. We all know you shan’t have this opportunity forever.”

She was right, Arlen knew. It was a rare opportunity to be able to escape from the duties that being the Warrior of Light bid him. He knew he should seize it by the reigns and run while he could before someone else gave him a task. Even knowing that, however, he couldn’t help feeling a bit of guilt. Here his friends were, offering up their free time to take up his duties. It didn’t seem fair to them.

“How might I repay you all?” he asked, watching the outstretched hand with poorly concealed wariness. If he’d learned anything in life, it was that someone would always expect something in return.

“Arlen.” He’d never heard his name stated with such exasperation. Clara frowned down at him. “We expect nothing. You have already done enough. Just come back to us in a better state than you are and we will all be happy.”

After a brief moment of heavy silence, Arissa spoke,“Perhaps he could go on a hunt with us when he returns.” A knowing smile had found her lips. 

A hunt. He could do that. It was at least something. Arissa truly knew him well. She would have to, after spending these past six years with him. Many of those years had included great patience on her part as he’d relearned how to live without the abuse that had become a constant in his life before he’d met her. He could never truly repay her in the way she deserved, but he would never stop trying.

With a small chuckle, he rolled up the parchment and placed it in his sack, followed by the ink and quill. He then took the outstretched hand and pulled himself, with Clara’s help, out of his hiding place, standing up to his full height as he faced his friends. 

“Send me a note when you decide our target,” he told them, smiling eagerly while his tail swished happily behind him. For the first time in more moons than he could count, he was looking forward to what the day would bring. He wasn’t sure what he would do without the structured days he’d grown accustomed to, but with Haurchefant’s help, he was sure that he would manage to find something to do.

If nothing else, he could sit in front of the fire in Haurchefant’s office while the other man worked. He could finally work on his song without interruptions. 

That sounded nice.

“We will,” Clara assured him, breaking him out of his musing as she released his hand in the direction of Jhim.

“Go, before Alphinaud or Minfilia find you,” Lazav bid him. Arlen glanced up at the Au Ru to find that the man was smiling down at him. He returned the smile without a second thought as he nodded.

“We will distract them for you,” Arissa told him as she began ushering him out of the aisle, “Enjoy yourself for once, Arlen. After all you have done, you deserve this. We shall see you in a few moons.”

“Alright, alright,” he huffed with amusement as he tucked his tail close to keep it from batting his friends as they all skirted their way into the main room. Sure enough, once they were out, Arissa was heading towards the Solar while Clara was towing Lazav towards Alphinaud. Jhim simply smiled down at him as he motioned towards the door.

“Shall we?” The taller man asked.

With his heart light with anticipation, Arlen nodded, taking that first step towards time off that he was only now realizing that he needed desperately.

He didn’t deserve his friends, he knew, but Twelve, he was grateful for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got carried away with this one. It was fun to explore Arlen's FC companions and how they all interact!


	5. Day Five: Matter of Fact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matter of Fact:  
> (n) something of a factual nature, as an actual occurrence  
> -  
> The fact that the Warrior of Light is truly a normal man escapes most people.

Ustrix first saw the Warrior of Light out in the streets near the Pillars, presumably headed to the Fortemps Manor. The man’s hat had been drawn low over his eyes in the bright morning light. Of his expression, all Ustrix had been able to make out was the displeased line of his mouth, lips pinched and drawn. The miqo’te was all but stalking back, tail swishing angrily behind him. Overall, it was a sight that left an impression on the Elezen. Something had clearly irritated the warrior. Ustrix had been glad he wasn’t that something.

Every single time he’d seen the man after that, Ustrix had been careful to leave a wide bearth between him and the warrior. The miqo’te’s mere presence spelled that trouble was afoot, or that some’s problem had just been taken care of. The large bow that usually accompanied the man didn’t help the intimidating aura he possessed. Perhaps that was the man’s goal. Or, perhaps the man simply didn’t realize just the perception people had of him. 

Ustrix’s impression stuck with him for a near half-year. The Elezen sat with his fellows at a table in the Forgotten Knight, watching a group of strange faces (This was the first time Ustrix had seen an Au Ru, let alone two) drink quietly and have what seemed to be a pleasant conversation. The two Au Ru were soon joined by, of all people, a Dragoon. Ustrix, stretching his alcohol-addled brain, recalled that her name was Clara. Why she was with the two Au Ru, he wasn’t sure. By the way she sat and began conversing with them, it was no mere coincidence that she was there. An Elezen man, clearly not of Ishgard by his dress, followed her in not long after, seemingly completing the odd grouping of people.

A half bell later and a drink further in, Ustrix did a double take when the door opened and the intimidatingly small form that was the Warrior of Light crossed the threshold. There was no hat present this night. For the first time, Ustrix could see the Warrior’s expression. Despite the drawn line of his mouth, his eyes held a soft, almost gentle expression. Those bright eyes scanned the room, briefly meeting Ustrix’s. To the man’s surprise, the miqo’te offered him a half-smile before his eyes moved on, settling on the table filled with Ishgard’s strangest residents.

The Warrior began his way down the steps, light on his feet, seeming to float down them. As the man passed his table, Ustrix saw that his entire visage seemed lighter without that hat. The man joined his friends with a greeting that was no different than the one that Ustrix himself used. If someone had dropped the Elezen here and told him that man was the Warrior of Light without Ustrix having seen him before, he doubted if he would have believed them. The man seemed too friendly, smiling at the server that came to take his order. He didn’t seem a warrior tonight. No, he was simply a man out for a meal with his friends after a long day’s work, just like Ustrix.

Perhaps it was as simple as that: The Warrior of Light was a man just as Ustrix was. He’d just been given a different role to play in life.

-

Maren had been one of Lord Haurchefant’s serving girls since he’d taken his place at Dragonhead. The Elezen was always kind to her. He never asked too much and always gave her his thanks. Dragonhead might not be the ideal place to work, but she couldn’t complain about her job. She knew many servants in Ishgard that couldn’t say the same.

The first time she saw the Warrior of Light, she had been shocked. A small, miqo’te man dressed in an elaborate coat with a hat that obscured most of his face had been the last person she expected to be the man from the tales. She’d always pictured a tall, handsome man that could lift her and her best friend with no issues. To say that her preconception of the man had been crushed was an understatement. 

Despite her crushed dreams about the Warrior of Light, the stories were right about everything else. Maren had watched in awe as the man single-handedly took on some of Dragonhead’s soldiers, beating them soundly. She watched as day in and day out he came back, sometimes covered in blood, other times carrying proof that he’d killed his target. He was a fierce warrior that never missed his mark. Everyone she knew was in awe of him, for good reason. 

She, however, couldn’t say the same. Maren was impressed by his deeds, that was true. However, she knew he was not the demigod that some of her close friends seemed to believe him. The Warrior was as much a man as she was a woman. He had needs and emotions just like the rest of them. She’d seen that firsthand one night while she’d been completing her duties for the Lord.

Lord Haurchefant had requested dinner in his rooms, a fairly regular request. Typically, when she delivered the meal, Maren knocked and entered, allowing the Elezen to continue whatever task he’d been working on. That night he hadn’t responded to her knock, which usually meant he was further in his rooms and simply couldn’t hear her arrival. Thinking that had been the case, Maren entered.

The sight that met her was one that she wouldn’t soon forget. The Warrior and Lord were together on the floor in front of the fireplace in a scene of such domesticity it nearly floored her. Haurchefant had his head in the miqo’te’s lap, smiling softly up at the man. The warrior on the other hand was deftly carding his fingers through the Lord’s hair, looking down at the man as if he was the most precious being in the world. She could see their lips moving in a murmured conversation, one that she dared not attempt to catch. Feeling as though she’d been intruding, despite the fact that they hadn’t noticed her, she had placed the food next to the door and made a hasty retreat, not wanting to break them out of their moment.

After that day, she could not longer see Lord Haurchefant as a mere Lord, nor could she see the Warrior as a mere sword to be pointed at something. Both of them had the same feelings and needs as she. While that may be off putting to some to find that their heroes were truly the same as them in most ways, she found it relieving. The simple matter of fact was that the Warrior of Light was a man that had been given a role much larger than himself to play. Despite that, he was still a man. 

Maren wished more people knew that. Maybe then less people would revere him and more would treat him like a fellow being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was hard for me to figure out. I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but I'm not sure what to change. Maybe I'll revisit it after the challenge is over.


	6. Day Seven: Nonagenarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nonagenarian:  
> (adj.) of the age of 90 years, or between 90 and 100 years old.  
> -  
> The Warrior of Light never expected to live past forty, let alone ninety.

As the sun rose over the silent, frostbitten hills, Arlen couldn’t help but to muse to himself that he was truly lucky to be alive. Throughout his lifetime, he should have died many times over. From his admittedly shitty childhood, to his abuse filled teen years, to his many years as a primal-slayer, ending a war, liberating two nations, saving another world from the light, killing Zenos not once but twice, and ending the Garlean Empire, he’d had thousands, if not millions, of opportunities to die. Therefore, it was truly a miracle that he’d made it this far.

The past fifty plus odd years since the end of his time as an adventurer had brought him many changes, the first being that he’d married again, something he’d sworn he’d never do. However, his friends had made a fair point: Haurchefant wouldn’t have wanted him to be alone forever. The Elezen had always put Arlen’s well-being and happiness at the forefront of his mind. If being with G’raha would give him a peace that he hadn’t felt since the death of his first love, Haurchefant would bid him to stay with the man. As it was, he knew, at the time Haurchefant wouldn’t have wanted him to dwell anyway. At least now he could think back on the few years that he spent with the Elezen and smile. No pain was tied to those memories anymore.

After the marriage had come years of travel and adventure, though not of the life-threatening kind. He and G’raha travelled the world, sometimes with the Scions, sometimes with Arlen’s free company friends, but more often than not they were content with their party size being two. They had still been young then, enjoying everything they encountered. Arlen would always remember those years fondly.

It was during one of those adventures that their shared life changed. It was a sudden change, but not an unwelcome one. They’d met a child that had been in a situation much like the one Arlen had grown up in, being exploited for his talents to the point of abuse. It was a simple thing to free the boy. It wasn’t as simple to gain his trust and subsequently raise him. He supposed then that he understood how Arissa had felt after she’d freed him. 

However tough it had been to gain the boy’s trust, however, it paid off in the end. They’d raised the boy as their own child, loving him and caring for him. The day he started calling them Da and Pa, both he and G’raha freely admitted that was the happiest day of their lives.

Overall, the two miqo’te ended up adopting a total of four children throughout their years, each bringing a new set of experiences to be learned. Each child brought different emotions, new struggles, and new joys. Arlen loved them all dearly and looked forward to each time they and their respective families came to visit.

He hadn’t done much in the way of gaining new friends over the past several decades. After spending time doing what he’d done in his twenties and thirties, Arlen had grown rather attached to those friends. Bi-weekly he had tea with Y’stola, Alphinaud, Alisaie, and Tataru. Urianger and Thancred weren’t so simple to find, but they met when they could. Arissa still travelled the world as she could, bringing a vast wealth of cultural knowledge wherever she went. Lazav had mastered more arts of combat than Arlen could even comprehend, after he’d been brought back from the brink of darkness – almost too late admittedly. He too spread his knowledge, though more often his pupils came to him. Arlen saw Jhim once a month or so when the man came on his rounds to fish in the area. Clara Jane was off back to where she’d come from, though she still checked in on them once every decade or so. Over the years since he’d last seen her, she still hadn’t seemed to age a day. No one ever had figured out exactly who or what she was, but they knew she was a friend, if nothing else.

A sudden brush of lips to his temple broke him out of his thoughts. Arlen glanced up, feeling a sliver of pain from moving too fast, but smiled nonetheless.

“There you are,” G’raha murmured, returning the affectionate expression, “You didn’t hear me rise?”

“I was reminiscing,” Arlen replied, gaze flickering back out the window to the sun that had risen low in the sky, “We’ve had a good life.”

“We have,” his husband agreed, leaning to steal a kiss, “Happy 90th nameday, Love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet today. My work schedule unfortunately didn't allow me to write more than this. Hopefully I can write more for tomorrow's prompt!


	7. Day Eight: Clamor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clamor:  
> (n) a loud uproar  
> -  
> Sometimes the Warrior of Light wishes his mind would quiet. The way he finally receives that blessed silence is the last way he wants it to come.
> 
> Huge spoiler warnings for the Heavensward msq. If you're here, you've probably been through Heavensward, but I just want to put the warning out there in case.

Waking that day come slowly. The warmth cocooning him was what he first became aware of. That alone was enough to put a purr low in his chest. It was rare that he woke up warm during his stay in Ishgard. By the time he typically woke up in the morning, the fire often had burned down to embers, leaving the room’s temperature in the hands of the wind buffeting the window. That day, however, he was warm. The arms that tightened around his waist, pulling him back against that familiar chest, told him why.

His purr picked up in intensity as he stretched, carefully extending one arm to catch behind Haurchefant’s head in a semblance of a hug. Haurchefant’s responding drowsy chuckle made Arlen’s heart flip in his chest. It was so rare to keep the Elezen in his bed for this long. Typically, Haurchefant was up with the sun, off to do his work for the day. Arlen, being a Keeper, tended to stay up later than his husband. As a result, he often slept though most of the morning when he had no pressing duties. 

Their sleep schedule only ever overlapped for a few hours, but those few hours were always precious. That reason was why Arlen wasn’t inclined to question why Haurchefant was still at his side as he rolled over. The sight he was met with took his breath away, making his purr pause for a moment before doubling in strength. His Elezen was reclining in the bed, early morning light catching his eyes and hair just right, making him look angelic. The gentle smile Haurchefant gave him made Arlen want to kiss it, so he did.

“Well, good morning to you too,” Haurchefant murmured once they parted, hand moving to scratch gently behind one of Arlen’s ears. A heat of pleasure curled low in his gut as he smiled against the Elezen’s lips. Arlen pressed his lips against Haurchefant’s again as he flicked his tail across his own thigh so he could curl it around his love’s.

“Good morning,” Arlen replied, letting his eyes slip shut as his husband began rubbing the miqo’te’s ears between his fingers. Twelve, he could live in a moment like this forever. If only he could live in his bed with his husband forever.

“Someone’s content this morning.” The amusement was evident in his voice as Arlen curled up and shifted until he was almost squarely on Haurchefant’s chest. His tail flicked happily when he felt strong arms come up to surround him again.

“Of course,” Arlen rumbled through his purr, nuzzling Haurchefant’s collarbone. He almost chuckled when a light, surprised sound escaped his husband’s lips. Upon opening his eyes, he noticed he’d bumped one of the marks he’d left the previous night. That sound alone made that low heat expand in his gut. “I have you this morning.”

“You’ll have me all day, for whatever you desire,” Haurchefant told him, voice gravelly, catching on the word all as Arlen nipped that mark again.

“All day, huh?” He asked, a sly smirk forming as he finally stretched all the way out. Haurchefant confirmed that with a low sound, seemingly more interested in what Arlen was doing rather than what he was saying. “I can live with that.”

“Good.”

Haurchefant’s hands came to rest on Arlen’s waist as Arlen sat up, slinging his legs on either side of his Elezen’s torso. The miqo’te grinned down, fully intending to make the most of this morning together. As he leaned down give his love a kiss, however, a knock startled them both out of the moment. Smiles fell away as the knock sounded again.

“I should get that,” Arlen murmured, deftly sliding off Haurchefant as disappointment replaced the heat in his stomach. When he was met with Alphinaud’s worried expression, he knew the day wasn’t going to go at all as he’d hoped.

-

When they returned to Arlen’s borrowed room to prepare for their trip into the vault, his tail lashed violently back and forth. Of course, it would be this day that Aymeric was imprisoned by his father. Of all days, it had to be his and Haurchefant’s anniversary. He knew it wasn’t Aymeric’s intention, but he couldn’t help his irritation as he found the heavy leather jacket and mail that constituted his apparel.

The sudden touch on his shoulder had him stiffening, his tail stilling. “Calm, my love,” Haurchefant told him, stepping up to his side, “We will have our time after we rescue our friend. I promise you.”

Arlen couldn’t help the deep sigh through his nose as he looked up to meet his Elezen’s eyes. “I’ll hold you to that,” he replied after a moment, relaxing into the touch. His mind continued to race, betrayed by his tail’s twitching. He always had trouble calming his mind when he had duties to complete. The only time the clamor of his worries and focuses calmed were those moments he stole with his husband.

“Good,” Haurchefant replied, leaning down as Arlen stretched up, meeting halfway for a kiss, “Help me with my armor, would you?”

“Of course,” Arlen murmured, taking a moment to study Haurchefant’s face, committing it to memory, “You’ll help with my face paint?”

“You need not ask.”

Together they prepared while Arlen’s mind raced. Looking back he wished he’d been more present in that moment.

-

As they stared down the archbishop, Arlen felt on top of the world. This was it. This was their moment. They’d accomplished what they’d come to do, now they just needed to capture him. All it took was a glace to his husband to silently confirm their plan. Together, they sprinted out.

Between the din of the airship, the pounding of his heart in his ears, and his sharp breaths, he only just noticed Haurchefant stop. He turned, his world focusing down to a point. Haurchefant. His shield. The bolt. 

As Haurchefant fell, everything was gone, save a high-pitched ringing in his ears. This couldn’t be happening. 

No. No. No.

They were supposed to go home after this. They were supposed to have dinner. They were supposed to exchange gifts. They were supposed to be together. They were supposed to go to bed. They were supposed to wake up the next day and continue their lives as normal.

His knees ached as he dropped to them, clutching at Haurchefant’s out-held hand. 

“You… you are unharmed?” The words sounded strained, pulling painfully at his heart. Arlen nodded, struggling to breath as his eyes flicked over his husband’s form, desperately trying to come up with a way to prevent this.

There was nothing.

“Forgive me. I could not bear the thought of… of…” Arlen shook his head, feeling sick as tears blurred his vision.

“Haurchefant, I-“ 

The absolute horror must have shown on his face as he brought the hand to his chest, refusing to let go.

“Oh, do not look at me so. A smile better suits a hero, my love.”

Arlen nodded again, forcing a smile on behalf of Haurchefant. It was his dying request. Of course he could give him that.

“I love you Haurchefant,” He whispered, leaning in close so he could see Haurchefant’s face, and Haurchefant his smile. 

The responding smile broke his heart. The light fading from his love’s eyes as he fell back against Aymeric shattered it.

Arlen collapsed at Haurchefant’s side, sobbing, and silently begging him to come back. It was only after he’d been pried from the side of his love an undetermined amount of time later that he realized that the high keening sound ringing in his ears was from him.

Looking back, Arlen still couldn’t remember how he arrived back at the Fortemps’ manner. He couldn’t remember how he’d found himself clean or in bed. He couldn’t remember the funeral, beyond the weight of their rings on the chain around his neck at the graveside, or the weeks that followed. He knew he did things during those weeks. He read about his duties and what he’d accomplished. But, they were lost to him.

All he knew during that time was that his mind was blessedly silent.

Had he been capable of thought, he didn’t know if he would still be alive to keep fighting for the First.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally cried while writing this chapter. I knew I'd write it at some point during this challenge, but I was not ready. Now I'm hoping to get a prompt that will let me write the outside perspective on the weeks that Arlen can't remember. We'll see though!


	8. Day Nine: Lush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lush:  
> (adj.) Characterized by luxuriousness, opulence, etc.  
> -  
> Eulmore brings the Warrior of Light back to a dark place in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shadowbringers spoilers below.
> 
> TW for mentions of abuse.

Everything about Eulmore set Arlen’s teeth on edge. Everything was wrong. Those free people, the ones that lived in gaudy luxury, did so with wild abandon. Whatever it was that they wanted, they got. Those that were lucky enough to provide what those damnable free people wanted tasted the lap of luxury. They, however, did not know just how enslaved they were. Those called the bonded would give anything just to experience a taste of what those free people had. They would do anything just to feel loved for what they could provide. It was wrong. But none of them knew it.

How could they if it was all they had ever known?

Arlen’s tail lashed violently as he stood by Alphinaud’s side, ignoring the subtle side-eye from the young man. He knew he should be acting the part better; Alphinaud had spent months trying to get in here, after all. Truly, he didn’t desire to spoil this. Despite that, he couldn’t erase the bad taste that settled in his mouth at the sight of the despairing difference in power, at the abuse that the poor folk accepted readily. It was wrong. 

No one would believe him if he told them.

Now they too were bonded, at least for these roles they played. The thought made his skin crawl as he and Alphinaud left the Immigration Officer’s desk. Safely away from prying ears, Alphinaud paused, turning his small frown towards the miqo’te.

“Is something wrong?” Alphinaud asked, voice soft as to avoid drawing attention. Upon shifting his gaze from their destination to his friend, Arlen realized with a start that his anxiousness was palpable. Clear worry had etched itself on the features of the young Elezen. That wouldn’t do. 

Arlen, with some effort, stilled his tail and willed his ears to unpin from their drawn position. Alphinaud needed to focus on his task at hand, not worry about the man that was over ten years his elder. He’d helped to liberate two nations, for Twelves’ sake! Walking through the cushy lap of luxury should be easy. In fact, it should be a relief after the past few years of non-stop battles and fights. This should be easy.

“No,” he replied after a beat, forcing tension out of his expression, “I’m fine. Shall we?” He gestured towards the next desk. Alphinaud looked as though he might argue for a moment, torn between ensuring his friend’s wellness and simply moving on. Whatever it was that he might have said, Alphinaud clearly dismissed with a nod, instead giving his friend a smile as they continued on to the next hurdle.

-

Lady Chai was truly a delight. Of all the types of people he expected to meet, her friendly, open, welcoming nature was surprising. It was by no means unwelcome, but it had taken him off-guard. Her friendly words and kind heart had him forgetting himself for a moment, his heart calming to a normal pace along with breaths that came easier. She truly had no clue what it was that she was doing to the bonded in her service. It was naivety, yes, but he could not fault her. If she truly knew, Arlen figured that she would be horrified. 

Chai-Nuzz, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing. He was a wealthy man who got what he wanted. If his wishes were not met, he wasn’t beyond forcing his hand, as was seen with the artist before Alphinaud. Gods, he hoped Alphinaud could pass as a painter for long enough. Twelve forbid the mystel do something to Arlen’s young companion. With how much Chai-Nuzz was reminding him of him, Arlen could not guarantee just what he would do.

“-the opportunity to experience Eulmore, I suggest you make the most of it,” Alphinaud told him pointedly. Arlen blinked, realizing belatedly that he’d missed most of the conversation between the Chais and his friend. This place was messing with his mind, making it difficult to think. “Explore the city, top to bottom.”

A vague attempt at a nod was the best response he could give in the moment. He felt bogged down, his limbs responding with a concerning amount of latency. The swell of anxiety in his chest gave him something concrete to cling to. It grounded him in the worst of ways. But at he made his way to explore, at least he felt somewhat in his skin again.

-

The Beehive, as the locals called it, stopped him in his tracks. The sights, sounds, and smells sent him back a near fifteen years. A wave of nausea rolled in his stomach as he entered, searching for the woman that he had been bid to find. Each step into the room set his heart beating faster. By the time he found Tista-Bie, he was certain it would beat right out of his chest.

“Welcome to the Beehive, my little drone. Seeking the sting of excitetment to liven up your day?” the woman asked, a pleasant curl to her smile that made Arlen’s stomach turn. He’d spent too much time in places like this when he was young. The intent behind smiles like that never meant good things for the person on the receiving end. 

Something must have given his mistrust away, for that curl disappeared readily, replaced by a smile that didn’t fully expel Alen’s nerves. “Hm hm, I can tell at a glance when folk are new to our happy colony. It’s the nervous fluttering, you see-always gives them away.”

“Is that it?” he found himself asking, catching him by surprise. The thought wasn’t one that he’d meant to voice. His pulse caught in his ears as he glanced around the room, taking in the patrons and the bonded in turn. The bonded on stage moved easily to the music, providing sights for those free men and women who were lonely, and entertainment for those who had a bedmate. The bonded didn’t own their bodies here. 

The uncomfortable feeling in his stomach rolled again as he turned his attention back to Tista-Bie, who had been studying him carefully. “Why don’t we play some cards to set you at your ease, eh? A quick game of “High or Low”.” 

Being at the center of her focus made him feel exposed, like she was ripping away at each of his layers. He nodded his consent to the game, hoping it would prevent her from reaching his core.

-

Arlen’s world stopped as he unabashedly at the man Tista’Bie had directed him to. For a moment, he heard nothing, choking on air as his lungs refused to breath. Eulmore had already figured him out. Everyone here had already realized what he was at his core. He was eternally a bonded, enslaved man. He had never given Arlen permission to be free. Now the people here knew it too.

Arlen hardly registered his walk to the stage, nor the pole cold in his hands. This was old hat. Dancing came back to him like he hadn’t spent a day away from it. It felt wrong. He felt dirty. His body moved through the old pole routine unbidden, leaving Arlen to watch as his past came rushing back to catch him. At least Alphinaud wasn’t here to see his shame. Too many people knew of it already. 

The world buzzed at a high pitch as he left the stage, returning to the booth that the man reclined in. Atharn, he was certain that was what Tista-Bie called him, dragged his eyes over Arlen’s body openly. Had it been fifteen years ago, Aryl’a would have asked the man to show his appreciation elsewhere, bagging coin for his boss. Now, his mind rejected the idea, thrusting Arlen even further from his mind.

“Now that was a show! You’re welcome to clamber up on stage any time you like!” Arlen felt as though he was going to be sick. He was a sham. How could he be a hero or a savior when he was a slave in the eyes of the world? 

He didn’t hear the rest of what the man had to say. All he knew was that he had to get out.

-

Arlen became aware of his body again at the side of Lady Chai, who seemed to be praising Alphinaud for something. Alphinaud, however, seemed to be of no mind to continue with whatever the Chais had been doing. Instead, he focused that small frown on the miqo’te. Distantly, Arlen noted that the frown wasn’t right on his friend’s face.

“Would you excuse me for a moment, Lady Chai? I must discuss my ideas with my assistant,” Alphinaud flashed a brilliant smile at Lady Chai, who tittered at its sight, “It’s a matter of artistic importance, you see.”

“Oh of course! Anything you need!”

Alphinaud bid his leave with a nod before turning on Arlen. “Come, my friend. We have much to discuss.”

Alphinaud led them out of the main room of the canopy, walking with purpose. Arlen followed a pace behind him, feeling a specter to the world. 

“Tell me, Arlen, what troubles you?” Arlen nearly tripped as he brought himself to a sudden stop, having not seen Alphinaud halt in one of those hidden hallways. “You are not yourself.”

No, he was perhaps the most himself he had been in a long time. Arlen had just been playing the hero for these past ten-some years. Something deep within that pit of anxiety that lived in his chest told him that Alphinaud wouldn’t like those words. Instead, he shrugged.

“My friend, please. You needn’t suffer in silence.” A hand was touching his elbow. Before he could fully register what was happening, Arlen was on the floor, huddling against the wall, feeling as though he was fifteen years younger, receiving a beating for the first time.

For the longest time, Arlen was only aware of his breathing, his pounding heart, and his shaking. 

When he finally felt his awareness filtering back into his mind, Arlen became aware of the presence at his side and the soft humming that paused when he shifted. 

“Ah, you’re back,” came the soft observation somewhere to his left. Arlen blinked, feeling as though he’d fought at least two primals back to back. Alphinaud’s face appeared in his vision, smiling, though it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes.

“So it seems I am,” he murmured, voice shakier than he’d like. Tentatively, Arlen brought a hand to his face, wiping at tear tracks that he hadn’t even realized had been there.

“…Can I touch you now?” Arlen hated how timid Alphinaud sounded. Despite how miserable he still felt, Arlen found himself nodding. He’d do anything to get Alphinaud’s confidence back.

The sudden hug sent Arlen tensing up as he harshly reminded his brain that Alphinaud was a friend. It took all of his willpower to relax into the embrace. This wasn’t a bad touch. He just had to keep telling himself that.

“…sorry for scaring you,” He murmured as he returned the hug, after the touch became nice again, “It’s-Twelve-this place. Its opulence. I- Fuck.” He took a breath, shaking in the hold. Some part of him laughed. Alphinaud would never see him the same again, would he? 

“Worry not, Arlen,” the young Elezen replied, voice soft, gentler than Arlen could ever expect it to be. It took him a moment to realize where he’d heard that tone before. Alphinaud must have heard him use it back when they first escaped Ul’dah and that bloody banquet. It was the same one Arlen had used to comfort Alphinaud in the wake of the Crystal Braves’ betrayal.

“How could I not worry?” He asked, feeling that ball of anxiety begin to unravel, “I practically wept all over your new shoes.” Alphinaud’s laughter was enough to begin lifting his spirits.

“I do believe they shall survive,” was the young adult’s dry response, “But what of you? Arissa said-“

“Arissa has said many things,” Arlen interrupted, carefully sitting up, “You’ve already seen my worst. This is nothing compared to that. Thank you, Alphinaud, for sitting with me.”

Alphinaud smiled, looking for a moment confused at the clear dismissal of the subject. He passed it off though as he stood, holding out a hand for Arlen to take.

“It is high time we return to our duty,” Arlen added, forcing down his feelings for another time. “Eulmore awaits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to bring new characters into this! I had a hard time figuring out how to fill this prompt, but as you can see, I had a large response to it once I figured it out. Arlen does not have a good time in Eulmore.


	9. Day Ten: Avail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avail:  
> (v) to be of use or value to  
> -  
> The warrior of light has trouble relaxing, even if he has no pressing responsibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a follow-up to day 4's prompt.

The fire snapped and crackled in the fireplace, casting a golden glow over the room. Arlen sat in front of the hearth, trying to focus on the paper in front of him. He’d finally written all but the final verse of the balled. There was something to be said for three moons of relaxion. Having the ability to catch up on all the things he’d neglected over the past several fortnights was a blessing. Now, however, he was having trouble finding the right words to finish out his song. 

Arlen shifted his seated position, moving from crossed legs to one straight out, the other bent at the knee so he could rest his elbow on it while staring down at the piece of parchment. Writing songs never seemed this hard in the past. The words usually seemed to flow naturally to the music he composed. There was simply something about this ending that didn’t want to come together. No matter how hard he tried, the words to G’raha’s song didn’t seem fitting. Perchance-

“Arlen, my love, if you stare at that paper any harder, it will burst into flames.”

His ear flicked first towards the voice before the rest of his head followed. Haurchefant was seated at his desk, smiling bemusedly down at him, paperwork seemingly forgotten for the moment. The corners of Arlen’s lips quirked at the sight of the smile.

“Perhaps,” he replied as he pushed himself up off the floor, abandoning his project momentarily in favor of giving Haurchefant his full attention, “I rather was hoping it’d write itself.”

The resounding laugh made Arlen feel light. 

“If that was how that worked, we would still be in bed. I would not need to spend my time in front of this desk,” Haurchefant replied, grinning in full. Blue eyes followed the miqo’te as he came to stand next to the man. Being this close, Arlen could see the subtle laugh lines and crows’ feet beginning to line his love’s face. They were hardly noticeable, but nonetheless they were there.

Arlen made a low sound in his throat, leaning to press a kiss to one of those fine laugh lines. “Even more reason to wish, then,” he murmured, delighted when Haurchefant intercepted the kiss meant for his other laugh line. 

“Alas, my love, you have your writing,” he gestured back toward the fire, but he did not bid Arlen’s presence away. Instead, he seemed to reconsider his thoughts, abortedly gesturing toward his own. “Is something amiss, Arlen?”

The playful smile slipped from his lips as he regarded Haurchefant. “I-Hm.” It was hard to explain without sounding as if he was complaining. He truly was grateful to get this time to spend with his Elezen. However- “I, this will sound idiotic, I’m certain. I feel as though I should be completing some task that’s beneficial to Eorzea. Sitting there, writing a song, it feels as though I am not accomplishing what I should be. I-“ 

Haurchefant shook his head, reaching out to gently cup the miqo’te’s cheek. “Arlen. I’m serious when I say this: You are more than just a tool for Eorzea’s gain. You are more than simple a tool to be used to reap. You are a man with his own wants and needs. You need the time to rest.”

Somewhere deep inside, Arlen recognized the words as truth. However, in application, he couldn’t help but reject the idea. “There might be a primal ravaging lands and people as we speak. Yet here I am, writing a song.” His ears drooped with his words as he diverted his gaze, not sure he wanted to see the man’s displeasure at his words.

Instead of an immediate response, however, he was met with the sounds of chair legs scraping across the floor and ruffling fabric. When he glanced back, his tail flicking curiously, he was surprised to see that Haurchefant had pushed himself away from the desk as to focus his whole attention on the miqo’te.

“My love, please, sit with me.”

Arlen hesitated for a moment before moving to do as he was asked, approaching the Elezen. Carefully, he lowered himself into the open lap, curling up once he was situated. His tail tentatively beat against Haurchefant’s thigh as the man embraced him, holding him close while resting his head on top of Arlen’s. 

It was warm. He was enveloped in Haurchefant’s scent and being. The purr that began rising in his chest surprised him, but the Elezen seemed to have expected it, simply humming in response. 

“See? You need this, my love. You must take care to relax. The world will take care of its own problems while you address yours. This tension isn’t healthy,” he murmured into one of Arlen’s ears, which twitched at the close proximity, “So relax. Nap, perchance, since I woke you quite early this morning. The world will still be here when you wake. I shall strive to be done with my work by the time you do.”

A nap did sound promising. The world might not be there when he woke, but he knew Haurchefant would fight tooth and nail if it meant preventing him from harm’s way. So instead, he made a soft sound of confirmation as he let his eyes slip shut.

He might not be of any use to the world today, but he could be of some use to himself for once instead. If it meant sitting there, safe in the arms of the man he cherished over anything else, he could be selfish for just this one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet, since I nearly forgot about writing this.


	10. Day Twelve: Tooth and Nail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooth and Nail:  
> (Adv.) with all one's resources or energy; fiercely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler warnings for the end of Shadowbringers.

Agony. It felt as though his bones were molten and his muscles tearing. What a monster he’d become, trying to save this star that wasn’t even his own. Ah, but they’d all known that he would fight to the death to save the lives of a few people. Here he had been trying to save the lives of the people of this world and his own. There was no one else that could, so he had to. That was his lot in life, was it not? But now it appeared as though he would be their doom.

“Are you alright? Say something!”

Ah, that was Alisaie. The world seemed far from him, the pain pulsing through his skull overwhelming his senses. Twelve, he didn’t want the kids to see this. If only Thancred would take Ryne, Alphinaud, and Alisaie away. He wanted them to remember him as he’d been, not whatever would come from this.

“Twelve forfend, he cannot contain the Light. He’s beginning to turn!” That was Y’shtola? His ears were pinned so far back on his skull he had trouble distinguishing the voices. White light lanced behind his eyes as he clenched them shut, one arm pressed against them in a futile attempt at dispelling the pain. “Urianger! If you’ve aught up your sleeve, now is the time!”

He heard another voice, though he couldn’t make out what was said. Whoever it was, they were desperate and distressed. Hells, he had to overcome this pain. He couldn’t turn in front of the kids. Arlen clutched at his head, managing to barely open his eyes to the world around him. Everything seemed to be tinged with light. His eyes, which already hated the bright, eternal light that had shrouded the First, screamed at him to close them once again, to block out the painful input.

“The combined light of every warden is to great a burden to bear.” Arlen squinted up, watching the Exarch, the man who had become a steadfast friend, bridging on something more. Had neither of them been bound by duty- A lance of pain cut the thought short. Arlen found himself on his knees, panting through the full-body throngs of white-hot, blinding pain. “And so I shall relieve you of it.”

What?

Panic shot up through the pain, painting itself across Arlen’s face. No. The Exarch couldn’t take this on himself. He would die. His people needed him.

The wash of magic over him felt so familiar it hurt. Gods, he’d been so blind. He knew this man. It felt like coming home. The pain quelled enough for his ears to unpin, though they hung wearily as nausea rolled in his stomach, dreading that which was to come.

“Exarch!? What are you doing!?” Arlen agreed with Alisaie’s question, grateful she asked it since he couldn’t muster the words through the pain still lancing through his brain.

“I will channel this profusion of power to the Crystal Tower and use it to travel to other worlds as I have dreamed of doing ever since I learned of their existence!” With each pulse of pain, Arlen heard the strain of pain in the Exarch’s words. The Exarch was taking the wardens’ light from him. No, he couldn’t do this. It would kill him. He wouldn’t be travelling anywhere. 

“Who would choose to remain here, in this dying realm, when they might go elsewhere and begin anew? Not I. And thus… thus did I use you!” Twelve, did the Exarch really think Arlen was that stupid? The man’s soul was too gentle. He couldn’t be selfish like that. He’d be abandoning Lyna, his people, their home. Arlen’s ears pinned again as his tail lashed. Lies. He huffed a laugh through the pain. The Exarch really wasn’t a good liar. If only he’d realized that back when he’d asked about his long-lost friend.

“No… No, I don’t believe you! It doesn’t make sense!” Ryne. Oh, sweet Ryne. Arlen spared her a glance as he heaved for breaths that didn’t seem to fill his lungs.

“Damn you! We won’t let you do with him as you please!” Alisaie, ever coming to his defense. The younger sister he’d never had but always wanted. Her strength always awed him. If only he could tell her to stop the Exarch for the man’s own sake, not for Arlen’s.

“Do not interfere!” Urianger. He’d known this was to happen, hadn’t he? He’d been in with the Exarch since the first, if Arlen had to guess. This was the plan Urianger had spoken of having for when Arlen couldn’t contain the light. Had he known the Exarch’s identity? Had he known what G’raha Tia meant to Arlen? No, he hadn’t been at Ralger’s Reach during Arlen’s time with NOAH. He couldn’t have known that Arlen had become close friends with that man. Had he not been in a budding relationship with Haurchefant at the time, Arlen knew his and G’raha’s relationship would have moved further. T’was only logical- “Please! I beseech you all! Let him go!”

“You knew of this, Urianger.” Y’shtola. Ever practical, looking out for those around her. Always looking, thinking, and putting the puzzle pieces together. She was a steadfast friend, one that Arlen cherished. “’Tis all a fiction,” ah, he’d been right about that, “Such vaguely defined acts of teleportation stand no chance of success. The Exarch will never live to see another world-as he knows only too well.”

“Then… What does he mean to do?” Ah, Alphinaud, always looking for the best way out of every situation, one where all might live to see the next day. Arlen couldn’t help the pained smile that found his lips.

“He means to take the Light with him into the rift, where he will die. From the beginning, he intended to sacrifice himself to save our friend and Norvrandt.” Y’shtola sounded resigned. Was there really nothing they could do?

No. Arlen couldn’t let that happen. It was unacceptable. Try as he might, however, he could not find a solid grasp on the light that was being pulled from him. It was like sand, falling through his fingers. Damn it all. He couldn’t lose another one. He couldn’t lose another person he held close.

“At journey’s end, an opportunistic thief makes off with the hero’s prize.” Arlen managed to squint through the pain of the light to focus on the Exarch as the man spoke, voice soft, almost friendly despite the clear pain written on his face. “A paltry way to end a chapter, I concede. Yet your tale will continue, and my role in it will scarcely be remembered.”

“No-“ Arlen gasped, trying to stand. The pain in his heart felt greater in than moment than the pain in his limbs. He had to fight. He wouldn’t lose another. Arlen reached out, wanting to shake some sense into his friend. His story wouldn’t be complete without the man.

“Worry not,” the Exarch’s voice was soft, almost affectionate. If anything, it drove that knife stabbing Arlen’s heart in even further, “Whatever should become of me, I will be happy and free, safe in the knowledge that I have played my part.”

Tears ran freely down Arlen’s cheeks as the pain and desperation mixed. The Exarch thrust out his scepter to enhance the strength of the spell. The blowback was enough to push that ever-present cowl from the man’s head, revealing the face Arlen had been longing to see. It was wonderful and horrible all at the same time.

“G’raha! Please don’t do this!”

The man seemed surprised to hear his name. Arlen had to wonder just how long it’d been since he’d heard it. The sweet smile that found his friend’s lips shouldn’t feel as damning as it did. He’d hoped to give G’raha pause, enough that they could discuss this. If anything, the man seemed to find his final resolve.

“Thank you for fighting for this world. For believing. Fare you well, my friend-my inspiration.”

No. No no no.

“G’raha, I beg-“

A gunshot. 

Arlen watched in horror as G’raha fell in front of him. For a moment, the world seemed to come to a halt. No. Not again. He couldn’t watch another one of his loved ones die in front of him. He refused. 

He would tame this light to save his friend. He would do it, damn the consequences. Arlen had had enough of putting aside his own interests for that of the world. For this once, he would be selfish. He would give all of himself to save the ones he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting this in five minutes before the deadline! It cuts off abruptly due to that. I'll come back and edit this in October. Look for day 11's prompt as a makeup either later today or tomorrow morning.


End file.
